2014: Another Confession
by Punk Drunk Love
Summary: I folded my arms across my chest and resisted the urge to tug at my pencil skirt like a schoolgirl. He had an effect on me, now. Somehow he could give me a single Viper look and I felt completely exposed. No one had this effect on me. Ever. Not even Paul. "What do you want from me, Steph?" Randal whispered. "I want..." I began, but couldn't form the words.
1. A Barrel of Monkeys

Author's Note: This is a Stephanie/Randy Orton pairing inspired by the 2013-2014 storyline of RAW in which Orton is the Face of the Company and being led by Stephanie and Triple H. I was also further inspired when research for this story produced a list of facts that showed synchronicity in Randy and Steph's personal lives, including the facts that Randy is closer to Stephanie in age than Triple H and Stephanie and Randy's daughter Alanna share the same middle name: Marie.

This story is rated mature for content and obviously there are themes of adultery which will be explored in more detail in later chapters. All of the other Steph/Orton FF stories I've read so far sympathize more with Triple H and Randy goes from sexy to evil and dangerous. I'd like to note that Randy will not be evolving into an alleged rapist here and my story will be more true to real life situations where the boundaries are blurred and no one is completely guilty or innocent.

I don't claim to own any rights to WWE or its affiliates. This story is for entertainment purposes, only.

1: A Barrel of Monkeys

"What about Paul?"

Randal's eyes were a dark shade of blue as he pondered me from across the empty room we were using as a makeshift office for a live storyline that would be featured on RAW later that night. Our surroundings were informal and plain, yet the subject we were talking about was anything but plain.

I folded my arms across my chest and resisted the urge to tug at my pencil skirt like a schoolgirl. He had an effect on me, now. Somehow he could give me a single Viper look and I felt completely exposed. No one had this effect on me. _Ever_. Not even Paul.

"He's my husband, Randal! Don't you think I've thought about him more than anyone in this situation?!"

Randal's eyes fell away from mine, and I was struck with the need for him to look at me, again. It were as though he could feel my deep shame at the mere idea of committing adultery, and it hurt him as much as it hurt me.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, almost to himself.

"I want..." I began, but I couldn't form the words.

Randal's blue irises moved back to find me once more. I was lost in his gaze. He was wearing only his ring trunks and all of the muscles on his body structure were somehow even more defined in the low light of the room. I could see him slowly making his way towards me to close the distance between us. I didn't dare let my mind confirm that he was trying to get _closer_ to me. I watched only his eyes.

"I'm a mistake. You know that," Randal's gaze hardened. He truly believed what he said.

I shook my head and argued, "You're not a mistake."

He was coming _closer_.

"What do we do, now?" he asked, lifting a wry brow as he inched his way ever-so near.

"I haven't thought that far ahead, yet," I admitted, shaking my head as a short laugh escaped my lips.

Randal smiled, too. I felt a sense of shame for laughing during such a serious situation, but I couldn't help it. Randal made me _want_ to laugh.

"I love Paul, I do. I've loved him for so long," I felt the need to say it out loud.

Randal was so close, I could smell his aftershave. I took in a deep breath. He blinked as if I had surprised him.

"You've just..." he trailed off, his eyes lost in mine.

I made a wry grin and replied shortly, "If you say, 'You've just found someone better,' I'll kick your ass."

Randal made a devilish half-smile and he glanced upward as he made a mental image of my threat. He chuckled slightly after a few seconds away and I knew he was picturing himself successfully subduing me. He was only _inches_ from me now, and all logic left my mind as I asked coyly, "What does it feel like to kiss Randy Orton?"

As dryly humored as ever, Randal shot back in a mock-serious tone, "I don't know, Steph; I've never tried to kiss myself. I'll be sure to add that to my bucket list."

I laughed out loud. It wasn't even that funny, but I laughed because he made me_ feel _good. Randal started to lean in, and as I tried to put off _temptation_ once more, I was overwhelmed with the violent urge to give in to my desire.

His six-foot-four frame came down to greet my five-foot-nine stature. He smelled like a leathery musk. His beard was thick and dark and I wanted to drag my fingernails across its length.

I closed my eyes. I held my breath. _I opened his lips with my mouth._

"Stephanie? Stephanie..."

I glanced up from the pile of scripts I had been staring at for the last twenty minutes. The twelve men and women that made up WWE Creative were all sitting in their ergonomic chairs set in rows on either side of the Cherry Oak table all the way down to the other end of the room. Their eyes were all centered on me at the head of the table, waiting impatiently for me to answer yes or no to the storyline they had just pitched.

Always a professional, I had been listening to enough of what they were pitching to get the general idea, though my internal fantasy had blocked out the crucial last minutes of brainstorming between members. I quickly composed myself and gave them my answer, "I love the storyline. With John on the injured list, everyone has done a perfect job at coming together and making this work. It's a great time to capitalize on the heel wrestlers."

They all relaxed, but their eyes remained on me, so I added excitedly, "Unleash the Barrel of Monkeys!"

My exuberance was received with more than a few confused expressions. I added more quietly, "Barrel of Monkeys, you know? That toy set that was really popular in the 80's, where all the monkeys spill out and you can connect them and entwine them and you can make intricate patterns because they all work together?"

Todd, an especially eager member of Creative, gave me a quick nod and a handsome smirk as he replied confidently, "Oh yeah! Those flat red plastic things, right?"

"I think there are blue and yellow ones, now," Gregory, an middle-aged member of Creative with a set of oversized glasses and a constant frown pointed out.

I filed my Barrel of Monkeys mention away in my mind under: _Worst Jokes Ever_ and interjected a more formal statement, "Randy Orton is our current Face of the Company. That's our incentive, right now."

I glanced just past the wall of windows that displayed the hallway leading up to our Creative meeting room in WWE Headquarters. Perfectly positioned on the marble wall at the hallway's center was a poster of Orton. His back was partially turned to show off the full extent of his tattoos and his gray eyes were concealed by a hunter green tint, a color purposefully chosen as a homage to my husband. The poster was one of seven scheduled for approval to be on a future Pay-Per-View ad. In my opinion, it was so amazing, it should be pictured on Randal's entrance theme.

What a _perfect_ face.

* * *

I kept thinking about Randal after I left WWE Headquarters and made my way to the next arena. The shame I had been feeling since I first acknowledged my attraction to Randal shortly after his divorce from Sam threatened to consume me after nearly two hours of imagining situations where we could talk, touch, kiss and potentially...inevitably...make love.

No, that wasn't the right word usage. Randal didn't strike me as one who made love to women. He _fucked_ them, and he would _fuck_ me. He probably liked it rough. He probably had ways of making me submit to him. _Spanking_? Probably. _Sadism_? Not too much, but he probably knew a few tricks to induce pleasurable pain. _Rope_? No, he probably preferred _handcuffs_. He did have a thing for heavy restraints in the ring.

Just thinking about the degrees of Randal's sexual appetite made a throbbing sensation between my legs. I could feel myself lubricating inside through mere thoughts, alone. I had no way of confirming anything I was coming up with, yet it excited me as if it were all true.

The more aroused I felt, the more my shame threatened to take away my dirty thoughts and replace them with the reality of the situation: I was married to Paul "Triple H" Levesque. Our ten-year wedding anniversary was just last year. We have three beautiful daughters. We are both executives with my father's company. Paul is my _friend_; my _lover_; my _soulmate_. Up until a few months ago, he was enough for me.

I had known Randal almost as long as I had known Paul. I was always attracted to Paul, and my early years with Randal were wrought with conflict. He was a bad boy; a rebel without a cause, and I wanted a man like Paul who would stand beside me, not a man like Randal who could so easily push me over the edge and take what was mine without a second thought.

My friendship with Randal developed over time. I _learned_ to like him, mostly because Paul believed in Randal and Paul wanted to help him reach his true potential. As Randal aged, married and welcomed his daughter, Alanna, he became a man. I admired him for that, though I could never truly understand his bouts with addiction.

His divorce from Sam left me saddened. I loved them both as good friends and members of our professional and personal families. My attraction to Randal never developed during all this time he spent being much like my husband. _No_. It came when Randal's divorce sent him back to his darker ways, only now he was a _dark man_; no longer a _dark boy_.

I was taken out of my thoughts when the phone rang through my car's speakers. I used the dashboard touchscreen to answer it. The screen read that it was Devlin, my assistant, who was stationed at WWE Headquarters and forwarded only the most pressing of matters.

"What is it, Dev?" I asked, taking care to keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the steering wheel.

"You have a phone call from Kane on line two, Mrs. Levesque," he told me in his usually soft voice.

"Thank you, Devlin," I said, using the touchscreen to let Devlin go so I could take the call with Kane.

"Mrs. Levesque?" Kane asked as soon as I answered, his voice shaking slightly.

Contrary to his usually aggressive characters on TV, Glenn was a big teddy bear in real life who shied away from modern technology because of his affirmation that it was all too complicated. He didn't like being transferred to my car phone because he thought he would get disconnected; the reason for his shaky tone.

"Kane, we've known each other long enough for you to call me Steph," I reminded him for probably the millionth time.

"Right, uh...Steph," he paused a few beats before continuing, "Did you hear anything from The Doc about my recovery?"

"At least two more months," I informed him.

He let out a long sigh like he was already aware of this and he was hoping that I wasn't. He changed the subject and mentioned in a lighter tone, "I love the way the new storylines are going!"

I knew where he was headed and told him reassuringly, "Until you're fully recovered, we'll schedule you to be an assistant to The Authority and you'll still have some air time. Creative and I have already prepared an angle for the moment you're ready to get back into the ring, again."

"I enjoy this new character because it's so different, but I do miss actually wrestling. Could I at least film some teasers ahead of time?" he offered.

"You're still in recovery, Kane. That means taking it easy," I reminded him.

"Alright, alright. Bye, Steph. Love you; miss you," he said.

"Love you and miss you, too, Glenn," I replied, but my touchscreen informed me that the line had already disconnected.

I knew he was frustrated. All wrestlers that were injured went through what I called the Anticipation phase, where they had been out too long and were more passionate than ever about getting back into the ring. I liked working with Kane, and I truly wanted to tell him he was cleared, but I was well aware of the consequences of taking on this kind of work too soon, and I was not about to risk the safety of one of my good friends because he had such a knack for great rivalries.

Another call came through almost immediately. Paul's name flashed across the screen, and my heart skipped a beat. Was it from happiness that he was calling, or my shame giving me a little stab for ignoring my husband all day?

"Hello, Honeypot!" I chirped as I answered the phone.

A short chuckle vibrated through my speakers, and I instantly recognized it as Randal's. My voice caught in my throat as my mind tried to comprehend how Randal could have possibly come up as Paul on my Caller ID. My confusion cleared when I heard Paul speak up with, "Uh, Babe...you're on speakerphone."

"Is that Randal with you?" I asked as soon as I caught my bearings.

"Yeah, he's here," Paul answered, and I heard another low chuckle from Randal.

They were _together_. This shouldn't have been a huge revelation, but for some reason, it caught me off-guard so much that I didn't see the black car beside me merging into my lane until he had almost collided with me.

I swerved to avoid him and slowed down so I could straighten myself out. Paul asked through the line, "Steph? You there? Did I lose you?"

"I'm still here. Someone just cut me off on the road," I vented.

Paul went into Vengeance Mode, telling me shortly, "Get the license plate number. I'll pay the shithead a personal visit."

I pointed my middle finger against the windshield as I informed Paul, "I'm already flipping him the bird for good measure."

"What a wise use of leadership skills," Randal replied dryly through the speakers.

His voice was smooth and low. It created the perfect hum through my car speakers that reverberated through the seat of my car and I felt the familiar throbbing between my legs, again.

I teased him right back just as dryly, "I believe you recently threw a guy into a set of steel steps, Randal. According to you, flipping someone off is a gesture of kindness."

He shot back easily, "Throwing a guy into a set of steel steps is part of my job description!"

I argued in-time, "Yeah? Well, part of my job description is not to let stupid become contagious!"

Both Paul and Randal laughed and Randy stated, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my boss, Stephanie McMahon."

The way he said my full name made my toes tingle. I curled them instinctively. Paul asked tentatively, "Are you ladies done chit-chatting?"

"Who are you callin' a lady?!" I shouted in a Southern twang.

I heard Randal laugh, but it was muffled, like he was facing away from the speakers. Paul informed me, "You have Randy rolling over here."

I smiled triumphantly. Paul moved on by asking, "Would you like to go out to dinner, tonight?"

"Oh, that's very sweet of you," I answered, knowing how hard it was for Paul and I to manage some down-time for just the two of us.

"I think we should celebrate all of our achievements as of late. Our stock is up, we're both being featured on active storylines, we're taking on the company, and things couldn't be better."

He had some great points, though I couldn't help feeling like there was more that he wanted to ask me. I prompted him with a quick, "And?"

"...and Randy is coming, too."

I almost swerved off the road, again. I quickly regained my composure because I knew he was listening and replied, "Sure, that sounds great."

Paul must've sensed the tension I was feeling because he quickly explained, "Randy's going on twelve years with the company. We did a bunch of promotional stuff in honor of Cena's ten-year, so I thought it best we made a fuss about Randy for a night."

"Yeah, that's great. He deserves to be treated like a champion," I smiled to make the words sound as meaningful as I felt them to be.

"Don't call me that," Randy retorted over the speakers.

His self-depreciating voice always inspired a rise out of me. I wanted him to understand that he was as important as John and anyone else higher-up on the company ladder, but Randal's worst enemy was always himself.

I avoided getting into an argument by lightening the tone with, "So you're the Iron Man to John's Captain America?"

An Avengers reference would definitely appease him.

"I like that," Randal sighed, and I couldn't help grinning broadly.

* * *

"Paul," I stood up to greet him as he touched my shoulders and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

We were seated in a fine dining hall at one of the area's most prestigious restaurants. I was wearing a white evening gown with a neck that dipped low in front, and Paul didn't hesitate to take an arousal-producing look down inside when I leaned into him.

He was dressed in a custom suit and appeared in all his charming glory. Paul stepped around me to pull out my chair and I turned my focus to Randal. He was also wearing a custom suit, though he appeared out of place when compared to us and the other guests.

Randal was redneck, born and raised. He was the _hottest_ redneck I had ever seen.

"I thought your name was Honeypot," Randal gave Paul a quick nod before turning to face me.

Paul growled under his breath. Randal would be teasing him with that one for a while.

Randal was suddenly very close to me. Just like in my fantasy, he smelled of leather and musk and he was leaning in to me for a kiss. I was well aware that he was thinking in terms of a friendly kiss of greeting on the cheek, but my mind was still flooded with images of this morning's daydream and I whipped my head around just as his lips were about to land.

My chin ended up smacking against his teeth. Randal immediately backed up and grabbed his mouth in surprise. I was so mortified, I couldn't stop the rush of blood turning my face bright red.

"Oh God, Randal! I'm so sorry!" I reached for him.

He shifted to one side so I couldn't touch him. I swore sometimes he _glided_ instead of moved. He took his hand away from his face and gave me a quick shrug as he replied, "No big deal."

I was sure I had hurt and probably embarrassed him, though he refused to complain. I forced myself to move on and turned around to take my seat. Paul mentioned with a chuckle, "He's from Missouri, Babe. If you knock his teeth out, he'll have nothing else going for him!"

Paul took his seat on my right and Randal mocked an annoying laugh in response to Paul's snide joke as he took the seat to my left. The men took their menus and I opened my own simply so I could bury my face in food items for a while.

"What are you going to get?" Paul asked Randal after almost ten minutes of silent pondering.

I dared to peek up from my menu to gauge Randal's response. He made a short frown and pondered the menu a few seconds longer before he replied stiffly, "I could really go for some buffalo wings and a beer right now."

"Oh my God, that actually sounds really good," I replied with widened eyes.

Randal turned his attention to me and stated with a wry smile, "I think there's a Hooters around here, somewhere. They have the best wings."

"I know it!" I countered.

"Let's get out of here," Randal nodded towards the exit.

"I'm seriously considering leaving with you right now," I said only half-jokingly.

I gazed into Randal's gray eyes. I was surprised by the response I was getting from them. He actually seemed like he _wanted_ to leave with me.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Paul interjected, startling me out of focus.

Randal turned to Paul and countered dryly, "You should stay here and enjoy yourself, Honeypot!"

I burst out laughing, despite the repetitiveness of the joke and the fact that it wasn't really that funny. It was loud enough that guests nearest to us shot me glares of annoyance. Paul furrowed his thick brow and asked, "Babe, are you okay? You're acting a little..."

"_Quirky_," Randal stated.

Paul pointed at him and replied, "I was gonna say a little Norman Bates, but quirky sounds a lot cuter."

I suddenly felt like I was standing under a heated spotlight. Paul and Randal were both staring at me and all I wanted to do was burst out of my human shell.

"I'm just excited for everything that's been happening to us! Randal is the Face of the Company, the storylines are finally working out, and even with John on the injured list, we're doing great!" I exclaimed.

Paul blinked for a tense moment of hesitation, then he nodded like he found my answer sufficient and added, "Yeah, it is really great."

Randal also nodded in agreement. I was just starting to feel at ease again when Paul continued with, "And Batista is making a comeback, which means we can put him in a few matches with Randy and he can take over as Champ."

It felt like the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room as I gasped, "Paul!"

He glanced at me and replied to my shock with a shrug as he put it simply, "It's the way Daddy McMahon wants things to be."

The three of us were well aware that my father Vince had distanced himself from Randal after the latest scandal put Randal on a 60-day suspension period for steroid use. Losing Benoit had torn away a part of my father's soul. To avoid ever feeling that kind of loss again, Vince made it a point to test and re-test our athletes for drug use, and no matter how close they were to him, if they were using, he was detaching. Those who weren't so important to him got the boot, but Randal was a legacy and natural-born wrestler. Vince used to see the same potential in Randal that Paul did. Since the latest scandal, though, I had seen the light in my father's eyes dim for Randal. Vince no longer wanted to expel the energy on potential he saw as wasted.

I turned to face Randal. His expression was stoic, leaving no hint of what he might possibly be thinking. I told him anyway, "I'm sorry, Randal. This was supposed to be a night of celebration for you."

His blue eyes remained focused on his menu as he replied with a shrug, "Can't argue. Honeypot speaks the truth."

Paul grunted at the mention of my nickname to him and said nothing more. For the rest of the night, Randal was his usual dry and easygoing self. He showed no sign that he was disturbed for any reason. There were no glimpses of rage or jealousy in his expressions. To everyone else, including Paul, it could be determined that Randal was unaffected by the knowledge that his position as Face of the Company was a temporary one, and in a few months, he would be easily replaced by someone else and things would go back to the way they were as though Randal had never had his moment of glory at all.

I was not everyone else. I saw the pain in his eyes. I could hear his saboteur-self reminding him that he couldn't handle this kind of pressure and it was better that John would return soon and Batista would probably be taking over the title. I could even taste the bitterness on his tongue as he respectively ate his plate of French cuisine while he secretly desired beer and buffalo wings in its place.

* * *

"I love you," I hugged Randal as we prepared to part ways back at the hotel.

"Love you too, Steph," he put his arms around me to return the gesture, though it felt like I was truly the only one doing the hugging.

"Take care, man," Paul added from behind me.

I let go of Randal so I could turn back to face Paul. He was already walking down the hallway towards our room. I watched him until he rounded the corner out of sight before I turned back to face Randal.

"Whether it's the truth or not, I don't want what Paul said to ruin your celebration. Twelve years with the company is amazing. I'm glad you're here," I told him honestly.

Randal didn't look at me. Instead, he kept his eyes down. I thought he was staring at the floor, but instinct told me to follow his gaze.

He was close enough to look down my dress. He was staring at the smooth curves on the inside of my augmented breasts. I realized that he had never completely stepped away from our hug, and his hands were firmly grasping my hips.

_Logic_ told me to push him away. _Desire_ told me to pull him in closer. I wanted to say his name, but I was afraid it would break him out of his trance. If I said anything at all, would he even notice?

"I have to go," he said, his voice thick.

In a matter of seconds, the heat between us had gone cold. Randal was walking down the hallway. _Away_ from me. He pressed the button to the elevator and got in. He was _gone_.

But the revelation was still there. He was _attracted_ to me. Randal Orton wanted me the same way I wanted him.

I knew at that moment that I could no longer hide the truth.

Chapter Resources:

Barrel of Monkeys (1965): Sold by Lakeside Toys/Milton Bradley Co.

RoboCop (1987): Directed by Paul Verhoeven

The Avengers (2012): Directed by Joss Whedon

Norman Bates is a character from the novel Psycho by Robert Bloch. The film version of Psycho (1960) was directed by Alfred Hitchcock.


	2. Dinner with the Mayor

2: Dinner with the Mayor

_I couldn't stop my dreams from flooding me with images of Randal all night long. I could express myself most freely in my sleep. My unconscious didn't care whether I was married or not; I could do what I wanted with Randal behind closed eyes and feel the same sense of arousal that I so desired while awake._

_The dreams I had after he put his hands on me at the hotel were much stronger than anything I'd dreamed of, before. I was more daring in my sleep, wandering out of Paul's grasp and our shared bed so I could sneak out of my hotel room and find Randal. He opened the door as soon as I knocked. He was grinning broadly; a wild look in his gray eyes as he pulled me into his room and locked the door behind me._

_He threw me onto his bed. We made out for the longest time. Our clothes dissolved somewhere in the throng of our embrace, and I could feel his erection against my thigh._

"_Put it in, Randal. Put it in," I begged him._

_He smiled devilishly and refused to heed my words. _

"_Please...oh, please," I could no longer suspend my needs._

_He stroked my hair with his fingertips. His hands were warm and comforting. His skin almost felt too hot against mine. His smell was different this time; much more like Paul's scent. Why? I wondered._

_He took hold of my hair midway down and gently tugged it to bring my head back. When my neck was fully exposed and I could no longer see him, Randal grasped my hair more firmly to hold me in place. He pressed his lips to my throat, grazing his tongue along the sensitive skin there._

_Teasing me. Slowly breaking me. Making the anticipation unbearable._

_I reached for his erection. He grabbed my wrists long before I could touch him and he roughly rolled me over so I was face-down on the bed. He put his weight on top of me and held my arms down so I couldn't reach for him, again. I could feel his erection against my backside, and the darkest of thoughts escaped my lips in a whisper, "Would you take my ass?"_

_It was something I had never asked Paul to do, nor anyone else I'd ever been with. Randal was the first man who made me feel aroused by the idea. He made a quiet chuckle before he pressed his lips to my ear and told me thickly, "I'll take every part of you that opens up for me."_

I could feel soft kisses against the back of my neck. I was moaning even as I opened my eyes and realized the image of me with Randal was only a dream. Randal's smell was like Paul's in the dream because Paul was the one kissing me. I rolled over to face Paul and I recognized that it was his erection I had felt against my backside. He probably believed that I was having an erotic dream about him, and I wasn't about to tell him otherwise. We were both highly aroused, and all I wanted at that point was to feel climax.

* * *

My familiar sense of shame came moments after Paul made love to me. It felt so wrong enticing him like that, yet my insides were still vibrating from the orgasmic rush I received. A deeply erotic dream of a longtime friend, continued upon waking by my overly aroused husband, and I could think of nothing else, even as I sat on a makeshift stage in front of a small audience just a few hours afterward, waiting to receive an award from a representative of the Mayor of Stamford for humanitarian efforts.

"Stephanie McMahon is here on behalf of World Wrestling Entertainment to receive an award from the State of Connecticut for their outstanding donations to charities and beneficial networks across the Nation. Please, give a round of applause for this amazing woman!"

The representative stepped away from the podium and gestured for me to stand. The round of applause began, and I was aware that Randal was somewhere in the audience, clapping for me. I didn't dare try to find his face in the crowd. I always felt so confident. For the first time in my life, I actually felt worried I would lose it.

"Thank you, everyone," I began, focusing my eyes on a random young woman in the front row until the applause stopped.

My eyes threatened to change their course and find Randal even as I made a glowing smile and continued, "I would just like to thank everyone involved in making this possible. I am proud to be a part of a company that can give back to the community, and it gives me great pleasure knowing that we're making a difference in the lives of so many people."

My gaze fluttered over the audience as I spoke the words, "Great pleasure," though I did not find Randal. I was grateful, believing that he could so easily see my desire for him within my expression.

"Thank you all, very much! The WWE would like to make a day of this event with games, prizes, food and drinks! Please, take a look around, enjoy yourselves, and stop by our autograph signing in a few hours for some beautiful candids of your favorite Superstars!"

Another round of applause, and the audience dissipated. The weather got colder; the crowd ebbed and flowed. Bryan hosted the games, April Lee and Natalya handed out prizes, while I took care of meeting and greeting higher-ups.

Faces _shifted_. I signed paperwork and shook hands. I smiled so much, my face started to hurt. Hours dragged on. Wrestlers and Divas went to the stands on the far side of the park for an autograph signing. I knew Randal would be there.

My white Vera Wang dress looked almost yellow in the aging sun. The clouds grew and threatened to storm on us. I slowly, methodically made my way over to the autograph signing. I thought there would be more people at the event. I made a mental note to create more promotions next time. I gazed across the sea of faces. I saw Randal.

He was sitting in a folding chair—always appearing comically too small for professional wrestlers—hunched over a table with a stack of photos to his right. He had a Sharpie in his hand and he appeared eager to sign something, though no one came to ask him for an autograph as I made my way through the crowd. When I finally reached him, he glanced up for only a second and his frustrated expression faded into a warm smile of recognition.

"Are you doing alright?" I asked, coming around the table to his left so that he still had room to sign if someone stopped by.

"Only had two drinks thrown on me so far," he told me passively, glancing down at his t-shirt to brush away tiny flecks of ice cubes.

He was wearing a black athletic wicker t-shirt that had absorbed the moisture thrown at him, making it hard to notice that he had been harassed. I stated sarcastically, "The perks of being a heel."

Randal grunted in agreement. I knew he was aware of it, but felt the need to mention anyway, "If you need a break, you can take one."

He straightened up and faced forward like he wanted to defy the idea of taking a break as he replied stiffly, "Right, yeah."

"I mean it, Randal," I argued, but he refused to let on if he were struggling.

My cell phone buzzed and it startled me. I had slipped it into the inside strap of my bra, and I could see Randal staring from the corners of my eyes as I quickly took it out to identify the caller. Devlin's name appeared on the screen, and I answered it with a confident, "Stephanie."

"Mrs. Levesque, I wanted to notify you that Mr. Bautista is on his way to the park to see you in person," Devlin informed me in a shaky tone, a typical side effect of those Dave intimidated.

I could still feel Randal's eyes on me, so I turned my back and on him and started to walk away from his booth and toward a more open area of the park. I replied as soon as I thought it was clear to do so, "Did you say Mr. Bautista is coming to see me?"

"Yes, Mrs. Levesque," Devlin confirmed.

I was more than a little surprised. Dave wasn't the type who went through the step-ladder system to get what he wanted. He typically went straight to Vince to talk business, and frankly, I liked it that way because Dave and I didn't exactly see eye-to-eye.

"Is there a reason why he won't talk to Vince?" I asked curiously.

Devlin reminded me, "Mr. McMahon is currently in India working on promotional deals. I informed Mr. Bautista of this fact and he insisted he needed to speak with you. I would like to warn you, Mrs. Levesque, he's not in the best of moods."

"Alright, thank you, Devlin," I said.

"You're welcome, Mrs. Levesque," he replied, and I ended the call.

I had stopped walking at some point and I was now near the parking lot. I wondered if Randal was still at his stand and I turned around to check. I was startled to find Randal only a few steps behind me with a concerned expression on his face. He had probably heard the entire conversation, and he was well aware that Dave was not exactly a welcome guest.

"When I said you could take a break, I meant take some time to be alone," I retorted to lighten the mood.

Randal remained serious as he asked, "Bautista's on his way?"

I folded my arms and told him, "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, he's on his way."

"You shouldn't talk to him alone," Randal warned.

He spoke to me as if he knew more about Dave's character than I did. I ignored the urge to question him about it and pointed out, "Dave is too smart to try anything in the middle of a public place like this."

Randal started to shake his head in disagreement, then he chose an alternate route of communication and said in a more light-hearted tone, "I'll stick with you anyway, just in case."

He was a stubborn man and I knew I wouldn't be getting rid of him, so I relented, saying quickly, "Fine. I drove the van here. We can sit in it and wait in the parking lot for Dave to arrive, and that way I can still see the booths and make sure things are running smoothly."

Randal nodded and followed me to the parking lot. He took the passenger's side while I sat in the driver's side. We were in an enclosed space now, and I kept breathing in the scent of grape soda on Randal's t-shirt. His gaze was intense as he stared out the windshield. I noticed he was clenching and un-clenching his fists, and again, I was struck with the idea that Randal knew something more about Dave than I did.

The temperature had dropped enough that I was starting to shake, though I didn't think to cover myself. After almost a half-hour of silence, Randal glanced at me and asked, "You have a jacket or something in here?"

I was watching the autograph stands through my window as I answered passively, "A sweater, I think...somewhere in the back."

He arched his back over the seat to look for it and I heard him shuffling things around as I mentioned, "You know, I haven't talked to Dave in at least three years. I kind of blew him off altogether after he actually told me to my face that he thought Paul only married me to get a leg-up in the company."

"A lot of people think that," Randal informed me.

I turned to face him for argument, but he handed me a sweater he had found in the backseat and stated, "Put this on. You're shaking like a leaf."

I hadn't even realized how cold I was until he mentioned it. I took my time putting the sweater on so I could ponder what to say, next. Randal kept his eyes on me the whole time. It didn't occur to me that I might be appearing sexy in what I was doing until after I was finished.

"Give me a list of names of the people who think that," I turned to face him with a sense of indignation.

My eyes locked with his and he blinked slowly. He broke away after only a few seconds and he made a remorseful expression, like he knew he had said too much. His eyes stared out the windshield again as he elaborated, "Let's just say, back when you and Hunter made your thing for each other public knowledge, there were more than a few guys on the roster who wanted to get to you first, and there were only a couple of them who I'd say liked you for you and not just for your advantage as a McMahon."

"Let me guess: The couple of guys who liked me for me were Test and Paul," I remarked, half-jokingly.

Randal replied passively, "Test was a good guy; great wrestler."

He said nothing more about Test, who had passed away a few years ago, and it didn't escape me that Randal said nothing about Paul's intentions. I almost questioned him on it, but my focus was interrupted when I saw Dave pulling up in his black Hummer.

"Who even drives that shit, anymore? Waste of gas," Randal shook his head at Dave's choice of transportation.

We got out of the van just as Dave got out of his Hummer. We met up in the center of the parking lot and I started first, "Mr. Bautista, thank you for making haste in meeting up with me."

Dave ignored cordiality and argued gruffly, "The fans hate me, Stephanie! Isn't it time you put me in some matches against guys I could beat around a lot so I can build up a reputation, again?"

I folded my arms and refused to let his aggression get to me as I stated, "No one is focusing on how many people you can mow down before WrestleMania, Dave. You're still a main-eventer, and you draw in huge, unstoppable crowds, because people will pay just to boo you. You'll get your chance when you face Randal for the title, and with Randal's history of violence, you both should draw in one of our biggest crowds, yet!"

Randal stood up straighter beside me and I felt his energetic boost at the mention of his esteemed record of violence. Dave shifted his weight from one foot to the other and showed no sign of burning out his already lit fuse, so I probed him for answers, "You've been booed by the audience since the Royal Rumble. Why are you choosing to argue them, now?"

He made a surprised expression like he had hoped I would've been too intimidated at this point to question his motives, then he quickly composed himself and shifted gears. His expression went softer and he said in a quieter tone, "You're absolutely right. It was wrong of me to come out here and lose my cool with you. I apologize, Mrs. McMahon."

Dave abruptly turned on his heel and walked away from me. I called after him, "Mrs. McMahon is my mother's name! I'm Stephanie or Mrs. Levesque!"

He nodded over his shoulder that he understood, but he didn't stop as he made his way back to his Hummer and drove off like a bat out of hell.

"What are you doing, tonight?" Randal asked as soon as Dave was gone.

"Are you asking me out?" I turned to face him in shock.

He blushed and I realized too late that he was actually referring to my plans for the night. I cleared my throat and answered quickly, "I'm having dinner with the Mayor of Stamford."

"Be careful," Randal warned.

I felt he was being too overprotective, so I argued with him, "I highly doubt Dave would want to target me. He's too business minded for games, and he knows he'd have to answer to Paul."

Randal took a step closer to me and we locked eyes, again. My knees started to shake as I remembered my dream from this morning and I prayed that Randal didn't notice the longing in my gaze.

"If he wanted to hurt you, he could easily do it. You don't know half of the things he had to do to survive growing up," Randal stated.

I hadn't thought of that. Perhaps Randal truly did know something more about Dave than I did. I nodded and said, "Alright, I'll be careful."

"You can call me. Even if it's late," Randal told me.

I knew he was referring to the idea that I call him in case of an emergency, but a part of me wanted to believe that he was giving me the option to call him for any reason.

Randal walked around me to head back to his stand as he stated over his shoulder, "I mean it. Call me."

"Of course," I called after him.

My eyes drifted down to watch his backside as he walked away. It was a childish thing to do, but I had to admit, I liked what I saw.


	3. Familiar

3: Familiar

My cell rang almost as soon as I came out of the restaurant from having dinner with the Mayor. I was certain it was Randal, so it surprised me when I read PAUL CALLING on the screen. I answered it and started to say something, but Paul spoke first, "Where the hell are you?"

His voice was clipped. I tried to lighten the mood by answering, "Well, hello to you, too!"

He didn't laugh like he usually did when I joked to let him know he was being too harsh. He stated darkly, "Randy told me you had a confrontation with Dave Bautista earlier today."

I scoffed and replied, "I wouldn't call it a confrontation. He was venting. It's nothing I haven't heard, before."

"You don't know him like I do! He doesn't just back off!" Paul argued.

"So I've been told," I refused to let him rile me up.

He made a frustrated sigh and asked, "How far are you from the house?"

"An hour or so," I checked the clock on my phone before putting it back to my ear.

I was almost to the van and there was no one else around. I was starting to feel more nervous and I believed Paul's intensity was to blame. He told me thickly, "It's not safe. What restaurant did you come from?"

I rattled off the name while I searched for the keys in my purse. Paul answered quickly, "That's only a few minutes from the hotel where Randy is staying. I want you to go there for the night."

"That's ridiculous! I'm not going to sleep with Randal!" I shouted.

I realized I was being too loud and looked around to make sure no one had heard me. Paul snorted like he couldn't believe I said that as he remarked, "I meant check into your _own_ room. Preferably close to his room, but not _THAT_ close."

A sudden pang of disappointment churned my stomach. It actually felt like some part of me believed Paul would give me the go-ahead to sleep with Randy in the same bed. Oh God, had I really become that desperate?

"I was only kidding," I chuckled and moved on, "I want to be home with you and the girls."

"I said it's not safe, Steph. I know that Randy will protect you," Paul's voice was softer, now.

"What's really going on?" I asked seriously.

"Just do what I've said. Please, Babe," Paul sounded nervous; almost frightened.

He was never so forceful and yet so cryptic about a subject, which made me believe he was being very serious about my safety level. This wasn't some kind of a prank like when I helped Ashton Kutcher get Paul on _Punk'd_. This was real and quickly becoming a cause for alarm.

"Alright, I'll call you when I get to the hotel," I told him.

"Thank you, Steph," Paul sighed with relief.

* * *

I kept cursing myself under my breath as I made my way to the hotel lobby and found out Randal's room number. He must've known I was coming because he had already left a message with the front desk so they would tell me where he was, and he had even paid for me to stay in the adjoining room next to his. The clerk was kind enough not to look judgmental as he informed me of everything and gave me a set of key cards.

He probably thought Randal was my husband after all he had done for me. I wondered what the clerk's expression would look like if he knew Randal was just a good friend and my husband was actually an hour away asking me _not_ to come home.

I couldn't help being angry with myself for listening to Paul. I should've told him I would stay at the hotel and then headed home, anyway. If Dave somehow caught wind of the fact that I stayed at a hotel just to be safe from him, it would only heighten his desire for intimidation. I should've shown him that I wasn't afraid, no matter what Randal and Paul were telling me. Or _not_ telling me, rather.

I reached the door to my room and started to open it with the key card, but Randal opened the door next to mine and came out to greet me with a warm hug. He held me more strongly than usual, almost like he wasn't sure he would be able to do this, again. I inhaled deeply and he smelled of a leathery musk that was highly arousing. I didn't want him to let go when he finally did and asked, "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

His eyes were full of concern, which only made me feel more aroused. Randal wanted to _protect_ me. He couldn't be any hotter, right now.

"I'm fine, really. I think this is a crazy idea, having me stay the night here when my home is just a short time away," I grumbled.

Randal turned his head to one side like he was pondering telling me something, but he ignored it and moved on, "There's a dividing door to our rooms if you need anything. I'll be awake most of the night."

I gave him a surprised look, thinking he was going to stay up and keep watch just for me. He quickly clarified, "I don't sleep well at night. Tomorrow, I'll catch a nap on the bus to the next arena."

"Okay, well, I'll let you know if I need anything," I smiled up at him.

He smiled back, but his was more wicked, like he was knew exactly what I _needed_ from him. I betrayed nothing and told myself I had misread his reaction as I turned away from him to unlock the door to my room. He didn't say another word as I made my way inside and closed the door.

But what if I hadn't misread him? What if he were telling me he felt the same way I did? I couldn't chance it. If I were wrong, I would be humiliated and disgraced. I couldn't lose a longtime friend over an ill-gotten smile.

Still, I couldn't help thinking of the way he had looked at me as I took my outer suit jacket and bra off and put them on the bathroom counter so I could get as comfortable as possible for bed. I removed my pencil skirt as well, leaving just a bottom slip over my underwear and light pink silk for my top. I washed my face the best that I could, but it was nothing like my usual beauty removal regimen and I was quickly becoming annoyed with the fact that I had no overnight bag with me. My mind went back to Randal's expression and my annoyance was eased somewhat as I remembered he was right next door. Did he really think all of this security was necessary, or was he just following Paul's orders?

My face still felt like it had makeup on it as I climbed into bed and struggled to get comfortable. I was used to having a hulking wrestler sleeping next to me. The bed felt huge and cold. I was tempted to ask Randal if he would just lie on top of the covers next to me until I fell asleep. I promised myself it had nothing to do with sex, but I knew deep inside that I was lying to myself.

_If he were in this bed with me, I'd soon be straddling him._

"Stop it!" I argued with myself.

I couldn't halt the slew of thoughts racing through my head. I stared at the dividing door and imagined Randal coming through it to check on me, then I'd ask him to stay and he would climb in to meet me. I imagined another scenario where he took the initiative and he burst his way in to take me, because that's what he always wanted to do. I even imagined a scenario where Paul stopped by and both he and Randal catered to my needs.

At that point, I was completely aroused. I wanted to touch myself to ease my frustration, but I refused to give myself the satisfaction. I was actually fantasizing about having an affair with my husband. It made me feel sick of myself.

I slammed my eyes shut and pushed the thoughts away. _I wouldn't do this. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to do this._

A little voice in my head whispered, _"You keep telling yourself that. It doesn't mean it won't make it true."_

* * *

A light thud woke me up from a deep sleep. I heard it again and it took me a while to figure out it was coming from the hallway outside my door. I slowly sat up, thinking at first that it must be Paul or Randal. I checked the clock by my bedside table and it was only twelve-thirty in the morning. If it were Paul, he would've called or sent me a text before he came by. I checked my cell next to the clock, but there was no sign he had tried to contact me.

The noises turned into a soft shuffling, like someone was fumbling around in their pockets. Probably a drunkard who thought this was his room. I climbed out of bed and quietly went over to the door to check the peephole, deciding it would be best to see who it was before I called for Randal.

I saw a pointed nose and a huge bicep through the peephole. He was off to one side and I could make out a crisp blue button down shirt. I recognized it was Dave and I took a big step back.

My whole body tensed. Adrenaline started rushing through my veins and I felt the desire to run. I could hear him shuffling outside my door and I was afraid he would come inside. Should I shout for Randal? No, Dave would hear me and it might make things worse. _Why was he here so late? How did he find me? _

I was running on instinct at this point. My mind was racing with the desire to find a safe place. It wanted someone to help me, but it wasn't Paul who symbolized my sense of security. It was _Randal_.

I had watched my husband beat Dave in the ring. I knew Paul could stand up to Dave in a wrestling match. I had no doubt that Paul could face him outside of the ring as well, but my instincts were telling me that it was Randal who would send Dave away.

_Was that why Paul sent me to stay with Randal?_ I was too focused on the threat before me to try and understand my husband's logic at that point. I took another big step back. I looked down and realized I was still just in a silk top and a thin slip and underwear. If Dave were here to hurt me, he wouldn't have to do much to assault me as well.

My mind was no longer the voice of reason. I'd known Dave for years and watched him brutalize opponents in the ring. I remembered when he was doing a promo with John Cena and John's neck broke. At the time, it appeared to be an accident, but I never forgot how brash Dave seemed about it, afterward. It was almost like he was _proud_ of the fact John's neck was broken. I remembered several matches Dave had with my husband, and Paul admitted that Dave could sometimes be overly brutal. He was a true beast, and my instincts believed I was his next target, regardless of our history and his standing with my father's company.

It suddenly dawned on me that Dave didn't have a key to my room. I had both cards on the table just a few feet from me. There was no way he could get in unless he pried the door open. I knew that Dave was no stranger to destruction of property, but for an instant, I boldly believed that he wouldn't try to break in. I took a step forward and listened intently, trying to understand what he was going to do if he couldn't get into my room.

He was still shuffling around out there, but he didn't sound like he was making any progress. I dared myself to take another step forward and peeked through the peephole.

_Oh God, he had a key card in his hand._

This time, I continued to back up until I fell against something soft. A pair of warm arms surrounded me and I felt a hand cover my mouth before I made an instinctual scream. I heard Randal's voice tell me thickly, "Don't be afraid. It's me."

My body completely relaxed against him. He slowly pulled his hand away and I felt his fingertips grace the edge of my lips as he placed his hand against my hip and directed me towards the dividing door to his room. He made sure I was past the door and safely away from the onslaught before Randal turned to face the front door to my room and braced himself for a fight.

He swayed back and forth in the darkness, just like The Viper I had become so familiar with. This was the _dark_ side of Randal, the side that usually only exposed himself in the ring. This was the side people feared. This was the side people adored. _This was the side that was always meant for self-preservation, but now he was using this side to protect me._

I heard the click of my door being unlocked with the key card. I held my breath as I heard the door start to open and the light from the hallway crept its way in. The light continued to illuminate the room until it reached the bed, and I realized that Dave would be able to see I wasn't in it.

I put my hand over my mouth to stifle any sound I might make. All other sounds stopped as the door remained only a short way open, then it began to close, again. I wanted to tell Randal that Dave had realized I wasn't in bed, but I knew I couldn't. I just had to stand there and wait until the door closed and we could hear Dave's footsteps departing. I remained still even as Randal came to embrace me with a reassuring hug. His touch didn't arouse me this time. I was in shock.

"He must've seen the bed and thought you weren't in here," Randal told me after almost a minute of silence.

"How did he find me," I whispered.

Randal pulled away to look down at me, but I could hardly see his face in the dark as he replied softly, "He probably followed you here."

I couldn't believe it. My mind refused to comprehend that Dave Bautista, a man I had worked with for years, was now the man who was stalking and trying to attack me. I pressed my hands against Randal's bare chest and I felt his hands splay across my lower back. It almost felt like he were touching my skin and I suddenly realized that I was still in my thin underclothing. He could easily feel my nipples pressing firmly through my silk shirt against him. He could probably even hear the brush of the velvet curtain of hair between my legs gliding against the fabric of my bottom slip. I had never felt so naked with him, before, and my instincts took over once more as I went from fear to extreme arousal.

I was hypersensitive from the adrenaline rush. I could feel the walls of doubt and guilt caving in as I stood up on my tip-toes to reach Randal's lips. I wasn't exactly sure where I was going, but I somehow found them through the dark and I latched on tightly.

He didn't pull away. Instead, he pulled me in closer as he returned my kiss by parting my lips with his tongue so he could explore my mouth. His motions were rough, just like the Randal I pictured him to be, using domination in an erotic way to close the gap between us. His hands moved down to my backside and he squeezed me firmly, pushing me even closer to him so that it was difficult to tell us apart. I let out a soft moan and wrapped my arms around his neck, begging him to lift me up and carry me to bed.

As if he had heard my thoughts, he cupped my backside and easily lifted me up. I wrapped my legs around him and held on tightly, even after he lowered me into the bed. It didn't feel like a storybook romance playing out with different slow-moving scenes and a long, drawn out version of lovemaking. No, this was something I hadn't experienced with another man, before. I had a strong, primal urge to feel Randal inside of me. There was no sense of logic and we took no time to explore each other. We simply had to connect _right now._

Randal's only clothing was a pair of soft pajama bottoms. He easily lowered them and exposed himself. I couldn't see him in the dark, but I could feel him against my inner thigh. It felt hard and warm and sticky with pre-cum.

He could've easily removed what was left of my clothing, but we were too desperate to bother at that point. He simply lifted my bottom slip and tore my underwear off with one clean pull.

Suddenly. He was _inside_.

He had come in more roughly than I expected. I gasped and cried out a little. Randal began making strong, grinding thrusts, shifting his hips in a circular motion as he rotated in-and-out, in-and-out. It was drastically different from Paul's technique and I was surprised by the contrast. _Did I like this? _I wasn't exactly sure, though it didn't make me want it any less.

Randal sat up on his elbows so he could look at me. His expression was one of _deep_ desire. His eyes told me that he had been anticipating this moment for so long, he wasn't exactly sure it were truly happening. I put my hands on either side of his face and closed my eyes so I could feel him with my _whole_ body. The friction building inside started to feel euphoric and I let out a loud moan.

He responded by picking up speed. He started grinding more roughly. It should've felt painful, but I was so wet for him, I felt nothing but pure pleasure. I was compelled to make another sound, though it came out sounding foreign and vulnerable. _Did I sound too desperate just now?_ Randal didn't seem to care. He started grinding even faster, to the point where I wouldn't have been able to keep up with him if I weren't so athletic.

"Randal," I breathed, feeling climax edging near.

He suddenly grabbed me and lifted me up. He stayed inside of me the whole time as he sat up on his knees and re-positioned me across his lap. He gripped the back of my thighs with his huge palms and _squeezed_.

It was almost painful and I instinctively swayed my hips. He did it again and I recognized the rhythm he was trying to get me to take. He _squeezed_; I _moved_ my hips _forward_; then _upwards_; then _down_ and _back_. The revolutions were slow and it felt kind of like riding a horse. I was a little bit taller than Randal in this position, and I could see him looking up at me with an expression of admiration. _Had he tried this with other women and they couldn't keep up? _

He made a groan that was loud and drawn out. I felt him release inside of me and I felt his erection dropping. _NO! Oh no._ It was already over.

I felt _unsatisifed_. I hadn't yet reached climax but I could feel the throbbing between my legs and I was _so_ close. Randal lifted me up, and I expected him to set me aside so he could lie down and enjoy his own sense of release.

_Please don't put me down_, my internal thoughts begged him.

He started to tilt me back. I felt a moment of fear and clung to him. He smiled and whispered, "Relax."

I _let go_. He led me backwards until I felt the softness of the bed. He leaned down and I felt his tongue brush my _clitoris_.

I gasped with surprise. I was so completely _aroused_. He licked me again. I was _so_ close. _So_ _close_. I made a loud, almost panicked moan. I could feel that this release was going to be really strong. I felt the sudden urge to tell Randal to _stop_. A wave of fear came over me as I wondered if I would be able to handle it.

Randal licked once more, then formed a seal with his lips and sucked. I had never felt it done like that, before. It was strange and exciting and release came to me in an unexpected surge of energy. My eyes rolled back into my head and I felt like I was floating off of the bed.

_Ecstasy. Pure Ecstasy. _

And just as soon as it had come, the sense of euphoria was gone, and all that was left was a deep longing for it to return, again.

Orton spread himself over me. His lips met mine. The embrace was soft; _familiar_. It felt as though we had done this many times, before. He rolled over on his side so he could see me, better. He reached his hand underneath my top and gave my left breast a curious squeeze. He must've liked what he felt, because he didn't take his hand away.

In this moment, it was only Randal and I. There was no Paul. There was no Bautista. No one and nothing else at all.

_If only the world could just stay away._


	4. The Morning After

4: The Morning After

_I woke up from a deep sleep to find the morning sunlight shining through the windows. I glanced beside me and saw that Randal wasn't there. I could hear the shower running and the bathroom door was open. I checked the alarm clock on the bedside table, and I was made aware that it was much later than I had anticipated._

"_Oh my God!" I shot up in bed and rushed into the bathroom._

_I turned on the sink and splashed my face with cold water. Randal peeked out from behind the shower curtain and asked morosely, "What's your hurry?"_

"_Paul's gonna be here any minute to check up on me! I can't be in your room when he does!" I argued._

_Randal turned the shower off and stepped out. I quickly moved aside and tried to focus on anything else but his warm, wet, naked body, but he refused to reach for a towel until I locked eyes with him._

"_What would you tell Paul if he were to walk in on us like this?" I whispered._

_With an arrogant half-smile, Randal stated, "I'd tell him everything's fine."_

"_Fine? Fine? Fine!" I screamed._

"_We had fun, didn't we? He doesn't need to know," Randal said._

"_You're such a dick, sometimes," I sighed._

_He took a step closer to me and replied thickly, "Didn't hear you complaining last night."_

My eyes shot open. I had to blink a few times to realize that I was waking up out of a dream and I was still in Randal's hotel room. I slowly rose up out of bed and found the room to be similar to the one in my dream. I could hear the shower running and the bathroom door was slightly ajar, also like in the dream. I checked the clock and the time was earlier than in my dream. _At least I had more time to gather myself._

I chose not to go into Randal's bathroom and risk my dream coming true. I went back to my room and double checked to make sure no one else was around. It appeared that Dave had not tried to come back. I went to my own bathroom and turned on the shower. I didn't have a change of clothes, but the hotel had provided shampoo and soap and a towel so I could at least make myself presentable.

_You also need to wash last night's scandal off your body. _My internal thoughts refused to give me a moment's peace.

I finished quickly and got dressed. My hair was still wet and I was trying to tie it into a loose knot when I heard a knock at my bathroom door and Randy asked from the other side, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be right out," I had to make an effort to sound normal.

I heard Randal's footsteps depart and I finished looking myself over in the mirror. I was fortunate enough to have skin that actually looked pretty in its natural state, and a thought in the back of my mind wondered: _Would Randal find me appealing this way?_

I sighed with frustration when I realized how silly I sounded. Like a _schoolgirl_.

"For fuck's sake, Steph, this isn't 7th grade," I argued with myself.

I stopped just before opening the door and took a deep breath. I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to say once I stepped out, but I knew I was going to have to tell Randal that last night was a mistake and it was never going to happen, again.

My heart felt heavy even as I thought about the words I'd have to say. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I didn't want to tell Randal _never_ _again_. I let out the air in my lungs and opened the door, making a point to walk smartly out into the room like a true professional.

I almost stumbled when I saw Randal standing there waiting for me...with _Paul_.

They were deep in conversation and both raised their heads when I walked out. I looked at Paul with an expression of surprise and said, "I didn't expect you to be here, yet!"

"I left you like, five messages! Didn't you check your cell?" Paul argued as he searched the room intently for it.

My cell was on the bedside table, and I had all but ignored it after Dave tried to break in last night. Paul went for it and I knew he was checking to see if I had turned the sound off. I didn't even dare to look at Randal because I knew the guilt would register on my face, but I could feel him watching me as I shrugged and told Paul, "I must've slept through it."

Paul was still fumbling with my phone as he mentioned, "Why didn't you call me when Dave tried to break into your room last night?"

I _froze_. Obviously, Randal had told Paul about Dave, and for some reason, I hadn't expected him to. When I didn't answer, Paul glanced up at me and I quickly gathered myself so I could respond, "Well, it was so late and I really didn't want you rushing over here when Randal had already seen to it that I was safe."

Paul was already on a short fuse and my answer sent him over the edge as he argued loudly, "What the hell, Steph?! What if he had gotten past Randy? What then, huh? I guess it's not a problem until you've been beaten or raped by the son of a bitch!"

"Excuse me?!" I angrily shot back at the same time that Randal interjected, "Hunter, I think you're blowing this outta the water."

Paul glared at Randal and added darkly, "Oh, yeah? Well, why didn't you call me, yourself, Orton?!"

Randal had a big problem with being told he'd made a mistake. For the first time since last night, I looked at Randal, but he was focused on Paul. Randal's almost gray colored eyes were like stone as he stated, "I _protected_ your wife from Bautista. That should be all that matters."

"Well, it's not all that matters," Paul retorted, tossing my phone on the bed.

Paul started for the door and added snidely as he passed Randal, "Especially when you two think it's fine to hide shit from me."

He was intent on making his way past me, but I stood in Paul's path and defiantly folded my arms. He frowned at me and argued, "Start walking, Steph. We're leaving."

"I am not leaving with you when you're acting like a child," I replied, standing my ground.

Paul blinked a few times in surprise and said more calmly, "The girls are on the tour bus with Cena, Ambrose and Rollins. They wanted to see you before I dropped them off at school."

"Well, then, we shouldn't waste any time going down to see them...as soon as you apologize to Randal and I."

Paul made a frustrated sigh. He turned around to face Randal and said quietly, "Sorry, man."

Randal nodded that he understood and replied, "Let me get my bags and I'll walk with you guys."

He turned on his heel and went back through the dividing door to his hotel room. Paul took the moment to apologize to me and I told him, "You're going to explain to me just what the hell is going on with Dave once we've dropped the girls off."

Paul nodded but I could tell from his expression that he was going to do anything to get out of providing an explanation. Randal came back seconds later with his bags and we started to leave. Paul opened the door while I grabbed my phone off the bed and I ended up behind Randal on our way out. I tried to step around Randal to get back to Paul once we were in the hallway, but Randal stopped me when he handed me a hair tie and said, "You can use this. It's one of Alanna's. I've got thousands."

I instinctively reached up to feel my hair and I realized that my efforts to tie it around itself had come undone and it was in a loose mess. I took the tie from Randal and used it to hold my hair back as I told him gratefully, "Thank you."

"No problem," he smiled warmly at me.

I looked into his eyes, and for a moment, the memories of last night registered in his gaze. Much to my surprise, he wasn't staring at me like I was a recent conquest or a dirty little secret. No, he was staring at me like...like he _loved_ me.

I quickly glanced at Paul. He was far ahead of us and already turning the corner out of sight. I looked back at Randal and blurted, "We can't ever tell Paul about last night."

Randal's brow furrowed with confusion, then he turned away from me and mumbled, "Wasn't planning to."

He sounded hurt. I realized too late that I was comparing him to the young, disobedient Randal that he had tried so hard to redeem himself from since the birth of his daughter. He had aged and matured, and I had basically ignored that to keep something hidden that I myself was partially responsible for.

"I'm sorry, Randal. I just...he'd kill you if he knew, I'm sure of it-" I started to argue.

I was cut-off when Randal suddenly grabbed me by my chin and mashed his lips against mine. The kiss was only seconds long, but it was filled with passion and when Randal broke away, it left me wanting more.

He kept his grasp on my chin so I wouldn't look away from him as Randal stated thickly, "I won't tell him what happened last night, but I am going to say something to you: Our first time will _not_ be the last time."

Randal was firm and unflinching as he spoke the words. I knew he was completely serious.

He let go of my chin and waited for me to start walking. He only moved after I did. For the first time, I was completely aware of what I had gotten myself into.

Randal Keith Orton was _in love _with me, and there was _no turning back_, _now._


	5. Blunt Trauma

5: Blunt Trauma

Paul took me home after we dropped off the girls. I surrounded myself with things to do that included scheduling our live-in nanny to watch the girls while Paul and I went on the road. The next couple of days were so busy, I had all but forgotten about Dave Bautista.

It was Monday night. We were at the Atlanta arena and I was in business mode. Paul and I were working simultaneously with Creative and crew to get the environment ready for RAW. Paul and I argued about the brightness of the lighting. I briefly talked to John Cena about his angle on tonight's crowd. I hugged Natalya when I saw her in the hallway. Paul mentioned that Vince had come back from his business trip to Europe.

Paul and I went to the technical van. Over the years, Paul had learned what buttons to push and where to position the cameras, and there were times when he started rattling off technical jargon that even I didn't understand. He put his headset on and we focused on the monitors. The cameras were in place and everything was looking good.

"What about that corner over there?" Paul pointed out a section where the monitor was picking up an odd bulge on a curtain near the Titantron.

One of our tech crew, Barry, checked the monitor from over Paul's shoulder and replied, "Oh yeah, that is weird."

"I'll go check it out," I started to leave the van.

Paul waved his hand at me and argued, "You don't have to do that, Babe! Just ask one of the crew to check it out."

I made a frustrated sigh and replied angrily, "Oh, right! Send someone else to do it so they can go back and tell everyone that Stephanie McMahon is too much of a stuck-up bitch to check on a curtain malfunction!"

"Babe," Paul started, but I refused to let him stop me.

I didn't realize I was talking to myself out loud as I imitated Paul's voice, "Ask one of the crew to check it out, Babe," then I argued to myself, "I'm not worried about breaking a nail! I can go and check out some stupid curtain!"

I came out through the entrance ramp and walked towards the ring. The crew was still setting up but there were only a couple of people around. "Must be lunchtime," I said to myself.

Stepping off the end of the ramp, I was just rounding the corner when I almost ran right into Colby Lopez, better known by his wrestling name, _Seth Rollins_.

"Oh my God, Colby! You startled me!" I clutched my chest and gasped.

He was dressed in his SHIELD gear and he had just come out of a dark corner of the arena. At first glance, he looked like a predator rising from the shadows. He smiled as soon as he recognized me and I was reminded of the man who had become a friend to me since he had arrived in WWE. We shared a lot of the same interests, and Colby's personality and mannerisms were very much like my dearly departed friend and fellow wrestler Test.

"Sorry, Steph! I didn't mean to scare you!" Colby laughed.

"What are you doing back here?" I asked as soon as I caught my breath.

He glanced over his shoulder and explained, "I dropped one of my gloves around here somewhere. Have you seen it?"

"No, I didn't see anything," I said, taking a quick look around as I spoke.

"Okay, well, I guess I'll just keep the gloves off tonight," he shrugged.

There was a break in the curtains behind Colby where some light was coming through, and I glanced past him when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the light had suddenly darkened. I could make out a large figure of a wrestler standing inside the break, and as he came closer, my heart caught in my throat.

_Dave Bautista._

He was dressed fashionably in tight jeans and a light blue button up shirt. Everything he wore was designer and he was wearing a pair of shades that gave off a pink tint. The shades made it more difficult to see the expression in his eyes and that bothered me. He looked like he was coming right for me, but he shifted gears when he came close and held his hand out to Colby, instead. Dave wasn't the type to shake hands, so I knew he was just trying to rattle me. Colby reluctantly took Dave's hand to shake and Dave winked at him as he said, "Welcome to the big time, Buddy!"

"Uh...yeah," Colby quickly withdrew his hand from Dave's.

Dave acted like I wasn't even there as he continued to speak to Colby, "So, I saw you a couple of times in developmental. You were good, man! Really good!"

"Really?" Colby asked incredulously.

"Yeah, yeah! It's great that you got assigned to a group like SHIELD coming into the big time, you know? It gives you more practice time and some buddies to hang out with...I mean, obviously, it's nothing like my deal with Evolution when I started, you know? Being with Triple H and Ric Flair is like, way better than being with two others from developmental, am I right?!"

Colby frowned like he wanted to argue, but he chose against it and simply nodded his head. He was perceptive enough to know how to respond to Dave's type, and I was grateful for that. Dave suddenly turned his attention on me and pointed out, "It's so great being back on the roster, again. Vince just signed me on so I can promote my big budget movie and give The WWE back some of its vintage charm!"

Dave smiled like he really believed he was the only reason WWE was going to stay afloat for the next few months. Dave went on as if I wanted to hear it, "I'll probably win the Royal Rumble; get a title shot against Orton...or maybe I'll go up against Orton and Triple H at WrestleMania! Kinda like an Evolution reunion, right?!"

He made it sound like he was just coming up with the idea, but I knew better. Dad had probably rambled off a bunch of scenarios while signing Dave back with the company, and Dave had just chosen to listen to the ones that he liked the best so he could repeat it as if it were fact.

_Asshole._

"Speaking of Evolution, have you seen Orton anywhere, Steph? He ducked out after I told him I was back and I haven't seen him around. I'd like to congratulate him on his title win," Dave was searching my expression for answers even before I could get the words out.

"No, I haven't seen him. Paul's in the tech van, though. Maybe you should talk to him about your return," I stated.

Dave blinked a few times like he hadn't expected me to give away Paul's whereabouts, then he quickly gathered himself and replied, "Oh yeah, I guess I should go check up on him."

"You do that. I've got better things to do," I turned on my heel to leave.

"Wait a minute, Steph," Dave said, but I kept my back to him.

I felt his arms wrap around me from behind and he was trying to pull me into him for a hug. I reacted with anger and jerked away from him, shouting as I did so, "Bautista, what the hell?!"

I turned to face him just as a flash of the real Dave went across his face. He was furious that I had rejected him and he probably would've tried to grab me again, but Colby stepped between us and stated calmly, "Steph, I'd like to talk to you about a new angle for my character."

Colby was acting like he hadn't just seen Dave get mad, and the tactic worked. Dave instantly went back to teasing Colby as he mentioned, "You know, you look like a punk rocker! Maybe when you break away from SHIELD, you and Punk can be tag-team partners! The fans would eat that shit up!"

Dave made a huge grin, once again acting as though he came up with the idea. I was well aware that Vince had been talking for weeks about recreating a Hardy Boyz tag-team with CM Punk and another partner, and Dave must've overheard it at some point.

It didn't work. Colby simply shrugged and replied, "Yeah, that sounds cool."

Colby quickly put his hand on the small of my back and directed me _away_ from Dave before he could say anything more. He made sure we were completely out of Bautista's line of vision before Colby leaned into me and whispered, "I'm sorry, but that guy is a total _dick_ _face_."

"He was never known for making friends on the roster," I mentioned, and Colby let out a low chuckle.

We were backstage again when Colby asked, "Does he always act like he runs the show?"

"His time with Evolution made him think that he's connected to anything involving Paul, Ric and Randal, which includes Paul's currently higher position in the industry and Randal's current title hold," I explained.

"Do you think he really watched me in developmental?" Colby asked curiously.

I shook my head and replied, "No way! He sees anyone not associated with Evolution as _beneath_ him. He doesn't even like the legends that came before him!"

Colby frowned and I added quickly, "It doesn't matter. You made it to WWE and you've already got a huge fan base! Besides, if Dave's not impressed, it means everyone else is."

He chuckled again and I glanced ahead of us to see that Randal had just appeared at the other end of the hallway. I turned to Colby and said, "Good luck, tonight."

"Thanks," he nodded at me and turned off to head to the locker room.

Randal stopped where he was and waited for me to come down to him. He was already dressed out in his ring trunks and boots and he was carrying the title over his right shoulder. He hadn't put on any baby oil yet and I was glad for that. He always looked _sexier_ to me in his most natural form.

He nodded for me to follow him when I came close and we walked down a few more hallways until we were completely alone on the far side of the arena. Randal motioned to a door and said, "Go inside."

I opened the door to find a small room with a bunch of cabinets on the walls and a worn out red massage table at its center. I climbed up on the massage table and let my legs dangle over the side as Randal closed the door behind us and locked it. He set his title down at the foot of the massage table and put his hands on either side of my face as he asked softly, "You alright?"

He was aware that Bautista had tried to contact me. I nodded my head and told Randal everything that had just happened, citing Colby as the reason I was still safe. When I finished, Randal let out a long sigh and said quietly, "If I had known Dave was that close to you..."

Randal trailed off. I could almost see the self-depreciating thoughts forming in his mind as his expression registered that he had failed me, somehow. I quickly argued, "It's not your fault, Randal! My dad signed Dave to the roster! There's no way I could've gotten very far without running into him at some point!"

"I should've been there," Randal insisted.

It felt like he were distancing himself from me, so I put my hands on his shoulders and told him softly, "Well, you're here with me, now."

He wouldn't look at me. I squeezed his shoulders and I remembered that they were double jointed as I asked coyly, "Have you ever thrown your shoulder out during sex?"

He grinned and slowly his eyes drifted back to mine. He pondered me internally for a while before he answered smugly, "Only once. I was trying something."

"Did it involve a swing?" I laughed.

Randal placed his palms on either side of me and leaned in. He didn't kiss me, but hovered just within reach. The sound of his deep breaths went slightly _ragged_, telling me that he was _aroused_. He whispered after a long silence between us, "I really want to fuck you _right now_."

His deep Missouri accent made the sounds of his words seep into my body like thick _molasses_. I wanted him just as badly as he wanted me at that moment, but I had been in the business long enough to know exactly how much energy each wrestler required according to each match, and Randal was in for an intense match against John Cena, tonight.

"Don't even think about it. There's no way you can bounce back in time to face John," I warned him.

He turned his head to one side and frowned at me like he was well aware of his limits. I let out a long sigh as Randal asked, "When can I see you, again?"

Almost immediately, my brain tried to argue with me. _Tell him you can't! Blow him off until he gets the hint! You're married! You're MARRIED!_

It was like my mouth wasn't even attached to my brain as I blurted out, "I'll meet you in your hotel room after the show."

Randal smiled and promoted an even better idea, "I rented a bus for this week. It's _private_."

"What about Paul?" I was thinking out loud.

A flash of remorse came across Randal's face. He quickly recovered and replied, "I'll talk to him about Dave being back. That should keep him busy."

I could hardly believe what was happening. "We're basically sending my husband to keep my stalker at bay so we can have sex with each other," I got a sour taste in my mouth from saying it out loud.

Randal shook his head and reassured me, "Paul would want to keep an eye on him, anyway."

"That doesn't make what we're going to do any less horrible," I argued.

Randal crossed his arms around me and pulled me into him. I wrapped my legs around his hips and stared deeply into his blue-green eyes as he told me, "When you're with me, you don't think about him. That's a rule from now on."

"And what about when I'm with him?" I asked softly.

"Just try not to say my name when he makes you moan," he answered thickly.


	6. Guide Me Through This Lie

6: Guide Me Through This Lie

The time had come for me to see Randal, again.

I had stayed in the arena long after the show. Paul was still working on a project with the tech crew when I left.

He didn't see me go. I didn't say good-bye. Maybe that was wrong of me. Still, I was surprised by how _little_ I cared.

I had never wanted to have an affair, before. I remember hearing about other people doing it when I was out with friends or while overhearing rumors from the locker room. I was there when Lita decided to have an affair with Edge while Matt Hardy was out on injury. I remember the anger in Matt's eyes when he came back. He felt that everyone had betrayed him. He was consumed by it.

The logic was there. The truth of what would become of my relationship with Randal. My head kept pounding with the words, "You're making a mistake! You're going to get caught!"

And yet, I found myself denying these words. I found myself believing a falsehood that Randal and I could carry on our relationship for as long as we wanted, and no one would ever become the wiser. Our story would be different, because I wanted it to be.

I stood just outside of Randal's personal tour bus. It was huge, extravagant, and I felt the odd desire to take it out to the woods like a camping trip.

The bus was parked in a dark lot a good distance away from the hotel where the other roster members were staying. John Cena also had a personal bus, but it was nowhere to be seen.

Randal had made certain that we were _alone_.

I knocked on the door. I stood back and waited. It was only seconds before Randal opened the door to greet me, but it felt like hours. He took my hand and led me up the tall steps until my heels were on carpet. He stepped down to close the door and turned around to face me. For a moment, we were just staring at one another.

Doubt slowly began creeping its way in: _This was a stupid idea. What if Bautistia followed you from the arena? What if he saw you come in here? He could easily use that against you! What if Paul texts and asks you where you are? What are you going to say? Stupid, stupid girl._

Randal spread his arms wide and remarked dryly, "Welcome to my humble home-on-wheels."

I laughed, and the doubt felt like a scarf falling away from my shoulders. Randal took the first step, then the second, then...he was _inches_ from me.

Something made me turn away. It felt like embarrassment. _Was I being shy with him? _I remembered that same feeling of uneasiness during our first time together. I had never had a lack of confidence when it came to men. Randal had a way of _disarming_ me.

My eyes scanned the room. Randal was silent behind me as I wandered towards the back of the bus. I wasn't consciously aware that I was headed for the bedroom. I noticed things as I passed, and I suddenly recognized that I had been in this bus, before.

"I came in here, once. Alanna was just a baby. I was so excited to see her for the first time when Sam brought her to our RAW St. Louis event," I remembered.

Alanna was a _beautiful_ baby. Tiny little curls of silky hair, a cute little nose, and the same dimpled chin as Randal's. Oh, that _dimpled_ _chin_. I remember placing my pinky against it while I was holding her. I swore she _smiled_.

Randal said nothing, but I still felt him behind me. I stopped at the foot of the bed. I glanced to my right, believing Alanna's crib would still be in the corner like it was the last time I came.

The crib wasn't there. Something inside me sank so _deeply_, I wasn't sure I would ever retrieve it, again. I turned around to face Randal and whispered, "I've made a mistake."

I put my hands on him and pushed hard, believing he would use all his strength to block my path. He didn't. Randal fell against the wall and I felt my heart catch in my throat.

_I couldn't breathe. I had to get away._

The door seemed so far away, I doubted myself even as I reached it. I stepped down once and reached for the handle, but my heel caught in the grooves of the step and I lost my balance.

My right ankle went sideways. I started to fall backwards, but the step was tall enough that I made a softer landing than anticipated. My ankle came back up and I was temporarily _stunned_. Randal rushed to my side and asked, "You alright?"

The pain came like a wave and splintered up my calf muscle, causing a spasm that hurt even worse than the twisted ankle. I cried out and grabbed my leg, tears springing from my eyes before I could stop them.

"It's okay, it's okay," Randal repeated.

He reached for my ankle and his one large hand nearly covered both of my small ones as he applied pressure to specific points until a sense of calm was _restored_. He smelled amazing and I could feel his hot breath against my shoulder as he opened the strap of my shoe with one brush of his index finger and freed me from my now regretfully high heel.

He did the same with the other shoe and moved his arm to rest underneath my knees. He used his other arm to support my back and he lifted me from the floor. I held tightly around his neck as he quietly took me back to his bed, then he lay me down across it and said thickly, "Don't move. I'll be right back."

The pain started to come back, again. It was much less since Randal used acupressure on it, but it was still enough that I screamed internally for his return. He finally did come back to me, this time with some hot and cold packs, a muscle and joint rub, and an ankle brace.

He worked in the rub, first. He massaged around my ankle, along my foot and down to my toes, and back up through my calf, all the way up to the knee. He did the same with the other ankle, despite it not being injured. I watched him carefully the whole time, seeing a side of Randal that very few had the opportunity to witness. He applied the ankle brace with the ease of a professional wrestler who was accustomed to caring for numerous injuries. Last but not least, he applied a hot and cold back to my ankle and settled it to rest between two small pillows.

Randal left for a moment and came back with a bottle of water. He handed it to me and turned on the TV while I drank. He came to rest beside me and we idly watched a late night talk show.

After a long silence, I turned to Randal and said, "I'm sorry. I'm sure you were expecting something more...intimate from me, tonight. Instead, you got a reminder of your ex-wife in better days and you were forced to save me from myself after I tried to make a frantic and not-so daring escape."

Randal gave me a sideways glance and a deep frown as he argued, "I told you I loved you. It's not all about sex for me at this point."

He looked back at the TV and added quietly, "You and I have a long history. It wouldn't make sense if we didn't remind each other about the past now and then."

"I'm still sorry. I'll make it up to you, somehow," I told him.

Randal lifted a brow of intrigue, then he joked wickedly, "Yeah, I'll bet you'll think of something at the next event."

"We'll see," I teased.

Randal scoffed. I just stared at the TV. Even as I closed my eyes to fall asleep, I could still feel him watching me; trying to decide if I were serious or not.


	7. I Miss Gravity

7: I Miss Gravity

**Randy's POV**

Being a pro wrestler, I had spent a lotta time sleeping in strange places. Motel rooms that reeked of mold that were stained with bodily fluids. Trying to sleep on the lopsided seat of a plane with a guy that looked like a dead dog eyeballing me from across the aisle. Sometimes, when the rich-as-fuck private hotel parties with Flair, Triple H and Batista got out of control, I'd pass out with my nose in some chick's ass and I'd wake up in the tub of a room I hadn't booked with my wrist handcuffed to a broken lamp.

You adapt or quit. Sleeping in random and mostly unappealing places is a huge part of the territory. Even after I'd made enough to afford the best hotel rooms and the best seats on the plane, world tours still make it difficult for me to customize everything exactly the way I want it. Then there's trying to explain to foreign airport security that the WWE World Championship belt is not a weapon and my ring trunks do not mean I'm only there to clean pools.

I was usually completely comfortable on my bus. No surprises, no infestations, and definitely no chance that I'll have to share a bed with a 200+ lb sweaty wrestler who snores and farts while he sleeps. My only bed-mate in the years I'd had the bus was Sam. I'd spent most of the time alone and content with that.

_Then, I was with Steph._

She didn't move a lot in her sleep. She didn't snore and she didn't smell like an outhouse. Still, I found myself tossing and turning and waking up a lot like her presence had me wired.

There were a few times where I'd check to see if she was really there. I guess all these years of thinking about her made the whole thing seem like a bad dream. One of those ones you wish were true but you wake up and you're disappointed and the rest of your day is fucked because it was all just a hoax your mind made you see.

I've been with WWE for over a decade. I've spent a lot of that time with Stephanie and Triple H. I owed my career to Triple H; he'd bailed me out so many times in the beginning. In 2009, I'd been married to Sam for two years. Alanna was barely a year old. I was turning my life around. I was a member of Legacy and molding two sons of the best in the business to be their own superstars. My rivalry with John Cena was one of epic proportions. The fans were paying to hate me more than ever. My merchandise wouldn't stay on the shelves. This one of my best years.

Early on in the year, I built a rivalry with Triple H by working a story where I was terrorizing Stephanie to get to him. There was even a moment on RAW where I handcuffed Triple H to the ring, gave Stephanie a finisher to subdue her, and I methodically kissed her on the side of her mouth while Triple H watched. A perfect setup and a story that stayed in the minds of fans for years to come.

I still get heat for that kiss. It wasn't even really a kiss, if you ask me. I didn't exactly touch her lips or give her any tongue. Triple H wouldn't let me get that close. The corner of Steph's mouth. Close enough to look like a kiss, but not enough to set off any real animosity between myself and Triple H. We did have to see each other backstage when this was over. Sam was watching the event from home. I couldn't actually kiss my boss's daughter on live television in front of her real-life husband. Wouldn't want a repeat of the crash-and-burn rivalry that was Edge, Lita and Matt Hardy. Too fucking messy.

The moment I pressed my lips against Stephanie, sparks didn't fly. She had been fighting me and my sweat had mixed with hers. She was dirty from all the fighting and her face had been on the mat, so she tasted wet and sour. I remember going through the idea with Triple H a bunch of times backstage, but when I looked up at him after I'd actually touched my lips to Steph, I saw real jealousy in his eyes.

I knew I would never get this close to Stephanie, again. Triple H would not allow something more kinky that a side-mouthed kiss. Seeing the jealousy in his eyes inspired me, though. Long after I'd gone backstage to shower and left the arena for the night, I kept picturing other things I could do to "attack" Steph and provoke Triple H's rage.

At first, I told myself that I was thinking of these ideas for the story. "It'd make a great work," I repeated dozens of times. I convinced myself that it wasn't about feelings or attraction or any of that shit. I just wanted a great rivalry. I wanted a great match. I wanted to entertain with the best in the business.

But the stories became fantasies. Late nights thinking about Stephanie in lingerie. Losing my focus while driving to the next event because I was picturing her naked. After a while, I wasn't thinking about Triple H at all. Just Steph. Steph with _me_.

Sometimes the fantasies were realistic. I'd stop her in the hallway to talk and she'd ask if I wanted to take her to an empty room and fuck her brains out. Sometimes the fantasies were extreme. Triple H drove himself off a fucking cliff and Steph came to me for comfort. Sometimes the fantasies were intense. I wanted to put it in every part of her that I could and she'd still be left begging for more.

I acted like I didn't know she'd become an _obsession_. I still had feelings for my wife. Sam was still beautiful to me, but I found myself thinking of Stephanie, especially when I was alone on the road. I was jerking off more than normal. I could only respond to porn where the woman resembled Steph. After a while, that stopped working and all I could do was picture her. It was easier when she was backstage and I could spend some time near her. I could recall the way she smelled and the sound of her voice.

All I wanted to do was fuck Stephanie McMahon. I was overwhelmed with the idea. I even told John Cena about it, knowing he wouldn't pass it on. He told me something deep, like that I was modeling Stephanie as the unattainable woman without recognizing the real Steph or some shit.

Then came my divorce from Sam. I kept it quiet from social media, but I knew it was coming long before it finalized. I was in my 30's and finding myself alone, again. The fantasies about Stephanie weren't just about sex, anymore.

One Sunday, Steph pulled me aside backstage and told me, "I'm so proud of you, Randal. You've really proven yourself to this company. I can't believe how far you've come."

It was a random and much needed compliment during one of the lowest times of my life. She wasn't asking me to do anything. She wasn't telling me that corporate had decided to fire my ass over my latest suspension. She wasn't moving me to mid-card because there were too many new guys waiting to push my old ass out of the way. She was just saying something nice, and at the time, I didn't think I deserved it.

Stephanie stopped being a fantasy and started being a companion. I still pictured her naked in my mind, but she was there to keep me calm when shit was getting too intense. She was there to tell me not to say fucked up shit during radio interviews. She was there to tell me not to take anything beyond prescriptions and get myself suspended again or worse.

Sometimes she was still there to please me. Most times she was the only thing keeping me _alive_.

"Why do you love me, back?" I wanted to ask her while she slept next to me.

_Why did she let me fuck her?_ She'd been with Triple H since before I came along. He was a wrestler, an actor; a guy with big connections. He was wealthy. He was smart and thought like a businessman. He'd helped WWE get even better. Most of all, Triple H didn't self-destruct.

Steph could have anyone on the roster. She could have anyone, period. She was rich, powerful, confident, and a business woman. She didn't make many mistakes. Hell, she could go to John Cena and tell him, "Get on your knees and eat me out, bitch!" And he'd fucking _obey_.

_But she chose me. She fucking chose me, and I don't fucking understand it._

I couldn't sleep. I got up before sunrise and took a shower. The bus didn't hold much hot water, so I had to be quick about it. I stepped out and reached for a towel just as Steph opened the door and came inside. The bathroom was small and she was less than a foot away from me as she closed the door behind her. She stepped tenderly on her twisted ankle, even with the support brace. I was dripping wet and she was still in her nice clothes, but she didn't seem to mind as she put her arms around my neck and pressed herself right up against me.

She let out this sigh and smiled like she was so happy to see me. I still thought it was a dream even as I felt myself getting hard for her. I wondered if she liked the size of my dick. I knew I came in at average. Triple H joked about his size all the time, but I'd seen his buck-ass in the locker room for years, and he wasn't anything extreme. We did share a locker room with guys like Big Show, Khali and Mark Henry, though. I just realized I'd seen way too many dicks for a straight dude.

Steph reached down and put her hand around my shaft. She smiled like she liked what she felt. Guess it didn't matter if I was bigger or not. She wanted me for _me_.

I lifted her up. I was used to lifting so much more weight that her feather lightness was awkward to me. I feared crushing her as I leaned her against the wall. I tasted her mouth and I got a hint of morning breath. It didn't really bother me. She wrapped her legs around my waist. I clutched her right thigh with my left hand to keep pressure off of her injured ankle. Her skirt rose up past her hips. I could feel her pussy over the head of my cock.

_Shit. She had already taken off her underwear._

Foreplay was not my strong point. I was good at making out. I was great at fucking because I was an athlete and I could go for a long time. I could make a girl squeal at least seven times in one night. One side effect of pro-wrestling they don't tell you about: _It makes you one horny fucking hound dog._

Did she want me to do something else to her, first? Fuck, I didn't know where to start. The first time with Steph was easy; we skipped foreplay. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, think of something, you asshole!_

I moved my lips to her throat. She responded with moans of pleasure. I used my free hand to unbutton her shirt. I had yet to get a good look at her tits. I reached inside of her bra to cup one. It felt too big for my hand and realizing that aroused the shit outta me.

She was clawing at my shoulders. It kind of burned but I didn't care. I took her left breast out and sucked on it. A few drops of milk came out. The same happened when I sucked on Sam after Alanna was born, so it didn't shock me. It didn't taste like the milk I was used to drinking, but it wasn't bad. I groaned as I swallowed it down.

I didn't want to play, anymore. I wanted to _fuck her._ I looked into Steph's eyes to make sure she was ready. I didn't want to hurt her if she wasn't wet enough, yet. She seemed just as eager as I was. I lowered her onto me. It reminded me of a stripper sliding down a pole. Fuck, it felt _so good._

I'd noticed it the first time, and again the second time: Steph was tighter than I expected. She'd had three kids, but she'd kept herself fit. I didn't want to think about how she did it. I started making thrusts and she held on tighter. She moved her injured ankle a lot. I wondered if this way was making it uncomfortable. I cursed myself for not taking her to bed where she could've relaxed more.

"Randy," she whispered into my ear.

I felt the bottom of my ear between her teeth. Her breath was hot and her heart was beating fast. She was so fucking warm, inside. _Why is she letting me do this? Why is she letting me fuck her?_

_Oh God, this was so fucking hot._ I'd never wanted this so bad. She was holding on to me too tightly. I wanted to thrust harder. _Could I thrust harder? Would she tell me to stop?_

"Harder," Steph whispered like she knew what I was thinking.

I was struggling to hold back my own release. Stephanie was more stimulating to me than any girl I'd ever been with. I put all my focus into meeting her needs to stop myself from getting lost in my own.

"Harder," she moaned again.

Fuck. The pace was just the way I liked it. I couldn't reach this speed and strength with Sam. She was fit, but not an athlete. Not like me and Steph. I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting to-

I lost it. I buried my head in her chest and let myself _go_. I was exhausted. It felt like I'd just been through an Iron Man match. _Shit, I came too soon._

_No. Not too soon._ I was suddenly aware of Stephanie's moans of pleasure. They were deeper than the first time. Louder. I felt something wet and looked down. I couldn't believe it.

All guys talked about the G-Spot. It was like a mythical legend about a place inside a girl's snatch that would give her an orgasm so strong, the wetness would squirt out. It was a joke in the locker room. "Hey, so-and-so, you make your bitch soak through the sheets, yet?"

I always thought it was just a story guys made up so they had a sense of purpose. Guys don't wanna know that girls can give themselves the same kind of pleasure, so why not put a pleasure spot inside that only a dick can find? _It had to be bullshit._

But I'd done it to Steph, and the sounds she made proved it was _real_.

She had to be feeling more than one orgasm. I held her against the wall and closed my eyes to listen. I could feel the wetness on my crotch. It did feel like being soaked.

_Just don't fucking slip in it, Orton. You'll drop Stephanie and look like a fucking asshole._

I didn't move until Stephanie relaxed. I slowly, very slowly, turned away from the wall and set her down. She glanced at my crotch and her cheeks went red. She seemed shocked like this had never happened, before. I grinned.

Stephanie put her arms around me, again. She was acting more excited than ever. It'd take me a few minutes to get hard again, so I had to come up with something to do to pass the time.

I opened the shower door.


	8. Let the Whole World Down

8: Let the Whole World Down

"Do you need any help, Mrs. Levesque?" Scott asked me at the next arena.

He was one of our tech specialists and he was offering to guide me through a Fandango feature we were planning on using that night.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," I told him.

Scott nodded and walked away. I looked over the feature and tried to imagine exactly where I wanted it. Above the ring. Lowered down on cables. I wanted Fandango's entrance to make the fans feel like they were in a dance club. _Perfect_.

I caught myself trying a little too hard to get involved in work. It had been less than ten hours since I last saw Randal when I left his trailer that morning to drive to the next arena, and every time my mind had freedom to roam, I was thinking of him.

"It's like you're fourteen again, Steph," I scolded myself.

The way I was falling for Randal did seem somewhat immature. My knees would literally start to shake whenever I was near the locker room. I had been by the cafeteria four times already. I was starting to scare the lunch staff.

I laughed out loud when I imagined how Randal was probably reacting to me. In typical man style, he was probably telling the other guys in the locker room how he boned some nameless chick three times in his trailer that morning. He was probably explicit about how she squirted all over him and the guys all had a good laugh about it.

Then I realized that Paul would be there.

Something was sickeningly wrong with the idea off Randal going into detail about our morning excursions and my husband being stimulated by mental images of the details without ever knowing the details were regarding his own wife. I suddenly felt ashamed of myself and I stopped looking over the Fandango feature to clear my mind.

"Excuse me, Steph," I heard someone say behind me.

The voice was a bit raspy and my first thought was that it was Paul. I was going to face him, but I was caught mid-turn by a pair of hands on my hips that were NOT my husband's. I was turned back toward the Fandango featured and moved to one side before the figure let go of me and came around to the other side of the feature so they could get a better look.

Dave Bautista.

Skinny jeans.

Broad smile.

Sunglasses. _Indoors_. Cocksucker.

My lip involuntarily curled upwards in disgust. I quickly turned it into a smile, but Dave had already caught the gesture and his grin swung higher in triumph. He removed his sunglasses and remained irritatingly pleasant as he explained, "I was coming up behind ya and I didn't want to get you scared. Sorry about that."

He phrased things like a serial killer. Who said, "Get you scared?" Serial killers. And maybe Windham Rotunda's in-ring character, Bray Wyatt.

"You could have just said something so I knew you were there," I crossed my arms over my chest and held my ground.

Dave shook his head and replied like he was ashamed, "You're right, I guess I could've done that."

Asshole.

"Hey, is this my new feature?" I heard another voice come from behind me.

Dave momentarily dropped his act and glanced past me. I whirled around to face Fandango just as he was coming up beside me to check out the feature. I noticed right away that there was plenty of room behind me and Fandango didn't even have to touch me to get around. I knew that Bautista had not grabbed me because he had to but because he wanted to, and Fandango had just proven that.

I locked eyes with Dave. His expression was cold and I could practically see the wheels turning as he tried to regain control of the situation. Fandango was completely unaware of the growing tension as he carefully touched the lighting in the shape of his outline on the new feature. I opened my mouth to talk to Fandango when Dave suddenly looked at him and asked, "You think Summer Rae's a slut?"

"What?" Fandango stood up straight and clenched his jaw.

Dave grinned. He was back in control again.

"I dunno, man. The whole locker room's talking about it. Everyone knows you fucked the shit out of her in your trailer this morning," Dave said.

He was using profane guy-talk and acting like I wasn't even there. He wanted to get a reaction out of me. Did he know the story involved me, or did he just want to see what I would do? It wasn't clear. I had to be careful so I didn't give anything away.

I glanced at Fandango. He seemed confused by Dave's story, like he hadn't heard anything about it. I turned my attention back to Dave and stated, "You do realize this is a place of business, and you are addressing something about a co-worker that could potentially be sexual harassment in front of your boss?"

Dave snorted laughter and explained, "Hey, don't mean no disrespect. Just trying to squash those pesky rumors, Steph."

He called me Steph. Like we were friends. Randal calls me Steph. _God, I felt sick_.

I kept myself as rigid as possible. I wasn't going to allow Dave the satisfaction of knowing that he had bothered me. I told him more sternly, "If you don't want to be fired on the spot, you better leave. NOW."

Dave put up his hands in defeat and walked backwards until he was at the next hallway. I made sure he was long gone before I turned to Fandango and said, "Dave doesn't know what he's talking about. Summer Rae is a strong addition to this company and the two of you are like Dancing with the Stars."

A valiant smile spread across Fandango's lips. I turned on my heel and walked away. I made sure it was the opposite direction of where Dave had gone.

* * *

"Can we get another shot of that?" I pointed at the monitor.

I was with Paul and most of our TV crew in the tech trailer. There was a house show going on in the arena a few hundred yards away. It wasn't a taped event, but we were using the trailer for footage from the last RAW taping to cut dramatic promos and build up rivalries.

The shot I was pointing to had Randal in it. I wanted to be excited about that, but it was a promo for a rivalry with Bautista.

Paul pressed a few buttons and turned a few knobs with his thumbs. The colors on the screen became distorted and the shot of Randal took on a more sadistic feel. There was some heat between my legs as I stared at it.

"How about this, Babe?" Paul brought up a quick sequence of Randal and Bautista fiercely staring each other down in the ring.

As soon as I saw Bautista, the heat between my legs went cold. Bastard.

"Maybe we should put more shots of Randal. The fans are loving him right now," I pointed out.

Paul shot me a sideways glance and replied, "If we put more Orton in this promo, that's all there'll be."

"I just hate Bautista right now," I blurted out.

The whole crew stopped to look at me. Even Paul swiveled his chair so he could face me. I quickly explained, "I meant to say the fans hate Bautista right now. Hasn't anyone read Twitter?"

The crew glanced nervously at each other like they hadn't realized that was part of their job description. Paul replied with a short chuckle, "Now we've gotta do everything Twitter wants."

"I didn't mean it like that," I argued.

He swiveled back to the screen as he grumbled, "Yeah, I know that's not what you meant."

Mike, one of our stage hands, popped his head into the trailer at that moment and said, "We have a problem."

Paul started to get up but I stopped him with my hand and told him, "I'll get it."

He took my hand off of his chest and gave the back of it a quick kiss. I smiled and leaned down to give Paul a kiss on his lips. Some of the crew laughed and smiled at us. They probably thought we were such a cute couple.

I came out of the trailer and asked Mike, "Where are we going?"

"Doc needs to see you. Orton may be hurt."

_Oh, no._


	9. Behind the Viewscreen

9: Behind the Viewscreen

Mike took me down a series of hallways. It was brightly lit and I could easily see where I was going, yet I found myself getting dizzy and stumbling as if I could not find my way. Mike kept looking back over his shoulder to make sure I was keeping up while he talked along the way, "Orton said he felt his knee give a little during his match. He said it wasn't bad enough to stop the match and it didn't start hurting until afterward. The ringside Doc thinks it might just be a tendon strain. Could put Orton out for a few weeks at most."

Mike stopped and turned to face me. I hadn't realized I was breathing so hard until he was face-to-face with me. I immediately composed myself and started asking questions, "Doc thinks it's a strain? Will they be testing for a sprain? We don't want Randal headed for surgery because the injury got worse."

I received a confused expression from Mike. I was stating the obvious and our doctors were well aware of protocols to avoid further injury. I tried to think of something more profound to say, "I'm just thinking ahead here, Mike. We dropped the ball when Sheamus was injured last year and it meant he had to stay out longer."

"Mrs. Levesque, I don't mean to argue with you, but Sheamus was out for longer because he kept refusing to go to his appointments and he kept telling everyone he was fine," Mike said.

I folded my arms and gave him one of my signature _Unhappy McMahon_ stare-downs. Mike quickly turned back around and started walking again. I followed him to a back room where someone had hung up a printed sign that said: Doc McStuffins

It was meant to be funny, but I was too upset to see the humor in it.

Mike knocked on the door and called through it, "Stephanie is here, Doc."

"Send her on in," Dr. Vargas called from the other side.

Mike opened the door and moved aside. I held my breath as I stepped into the room. I kept my focus on trying to look as normal as possible. I wasn't sure exactly how much concern I could show without depicting too much.

Randal was lying on a chiropractic table to the right of the room. His head was turned towards the wall and his hands were resting on his stomach. His legs were so long that they hung a good foot past the end of the table. Dr. Vargas was leaned over Randal's left knee and examining it with gloved hands. I could hear Randal mumbling to Dr. Vargas as if responding to a question. Neither of them turned to face me when I came in.

Wrestlers were good, hardworking people. They could be the meanest, ugliest, most vicious characters inside the ring. Having that outlet to vent their frustrations meant that most of them were the sweetest and most honorable people you could meet once they were out of character. Family men, loving wives, dedicated to their spouses and courteous to their children.

Everyone who grows up in the business knows there are two moments in time where wrestlers shouldn't be crossed: When they're getting into character just before going out into the ring, especially in the case of heels, and when they're injured. Divas usually ranted and cried, while the men either shut down completely or blew their tops. Whatever Randal and I shared up until this point meant something to him. I was sure of that. I was also very well aware of the wrath of an injured wrestler, so I was prepared for an angry and bitter Randal who might treat me like the enemy while his future was still uncertain.

Dr. Vargas was the first to make eye contact with me. He motioned for me to come closer and I stood beside him. I could not feel Randal's eyes on me, though I wanted him to _look_.

"...here is the injury of the tendon...probably strain...a few days..."

Dr. Vargas was reporting to me, but I wasn't really listening. I had a sudden and violent need to take Randal's hand and squeeze it. I stopped myself and tried to focus on his knee. He was still in his ring trunks and he smelled of sweat and canvas. The light against his moist skin had a kind of glowing effect.

I glanced at his crotch. _I couldn't help it._

"Mrs. Levesque?" Dr. Vargas wanted my attention.

He either didn't or pretended not to notice where I was looking. I quickly repeated back what I could remember, "A strain? Which means at least a week off."

Dr. Vargas nodded slowly. He was waiting for me to argue that we had too many bookings and events coming up for Randal to be out a full week. I crossed my arms and replied simply, "Thank you, Dr. Vargas."

He smiled and took his leave. Randal and I were alone, together. Usually, I'd take the time to go over a plan for the next week. We'd brainstorm a storyline where Randal was either "injured" on camera to create a potential rivalry and explain the recovery time, or we'd make an excuse about Randal going on vacation and use it for a storyline after his return. He'd tell me he'd be back on his feet in less time than the doctor ordered and I'd have to argue with him that he'd need the full week. We'd go over explaining his absence for any appearances. I'd negotiate having him sign autographs before going home that we could sell at the events to appease the fans. We'd go over the amount of a pay cut he would receive for his absence. We'd discuss further tests and what it would take to get him back in the ring.

That was just some of the normal routine. This time, I just wanted to _stay_ with him.

I was brave enough to meet his gaze, though he would not meet mine. His eyes were focused on the wall and he didn't move to touch me. I asked him quietly, "Do you need me to get you anything?"

"No," Randal replied thickly.

He was beating himself up, inside. I could see it in his blue irises, which had turned a somber gray. I asked him another question, "Do you need me to contact anybody or set up an appointment for a follow-up with another doctor-"

"No," Randal stated.

"Alright," I replied, mostly to let him know that I wasn't hurt by his need to withdrawal.

It was silent for over a minute. I wanted to touch him but I didn't dare to. His gaze suddenly left the wall and he looked up at me. He was still distant, even as he told me, "I won't see you for a week. That's too long."

I was caught by surprise. I struggled to reply, "It's only seven days. No big deal."

"You don't understand how much I want you," Randal countered.

His tone was still hard as he blinked slowly and confessed, "_Years_. Years, I've wanted you. I can't lose it all in seven days."

If I were a more emotional woman, I would've been crying my eyes out. But that wasn't me. I leaned down to kiss Randal, telling him as we parted, "You won't lose me. I'm right here."

His eyes seemed unsure, as if he believed I would simply disappear in a puff of smoke and he would awaken from this dream. I needed to convince him that this was all _real_. I ran my fingernails down the middle of his chest, over his eight-pack abs, and reached down deep into his ring trunks.

He let out a soft groan as I cupped his manhood. I squeezed it just enough to inspire his surprise. I leaned into his ear and whispered, "I'll still want you when you get back."

Someone knocked at the door.

I pulled my hand from Randal's trunks and straightened up just as someone opened it. Paul walked in and I was relieved he had chosen to knock first, a habit that he wasn't always good about doing.

"Looks like you're out for a few days," Paul grinned to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," Randal replied in the same hard tone.

Paul glanced at me and back at Randal. I could tell there was something on his mind.

"What is it?" I asked.

Paul put up his hands and explained, "Look, I think it would be a better idea if Randal just stayed on tour with us despite the injury. I mean, it's just a few days he'll be out and he could still do autograph signings and all that shit to appease the fans. It also means he still gets paid some for the week and everybody's happy."

The idea was _perfect_. Paul didn't realize just how perfect.

"Sounds good to me," I chimed in with a quick smile.

"And," Paul pointed his finger at me, "I think Randal should stay in a hotel room next to ours tonight so we can keep up on his progress and keep him away from any shit Bautista might try to pull to keep him injured."

"I have a bus," Randal shot back before I had time to speak.

"Fuck your bus, you're staying in a hotel room for tonight," Paul countered sharply.

"I don't want a fucking hotel room!" Randy yelled so hard his eyes bulged.

"You're an ungrateful prick," Paul started in on him, "And I've already booked us so you're staying in the room or you're paying me back, dickhead."

Randal punched the concrete wall with the side of his right fist. It made a loud CRACK! Paul looked at me and shook his head like he had no idea why Randal wouldn't want to stay in the room next to ours. I had my suspicions, but I said nothing.

"Let's go, Paul," I linked my arms with his and led him out of the room.

"Fucking prick," Paul repeated all the way down the hall.

* * *

"You should put that down," I warned Paul.

It was after midnight and he was still on his laptop. He was trying to answer important e-mails and he had just finished Skyping with several top executives from the Company. I had gone through my nightly routine to unwind and I was already relaxing in bed and watching a Real Housewives marathon.

I was hoping Randal was asleep. I knew what Paul would want once he came to bed.

Randal didn't want the room next to ours because there was a strong chance he would overhear us. I rarely turned Paul down and I didn't want him pestering me about why I wasn't game. I was gunning on the idea that Paul would just continue on his laptop until I fell asleep. He didn't respond to my warning and he was still intensely concentrated on what he was doing, so I turned the TV off and rolled over to face away from him.

I closed my eyes to sleep. All I could think about was Randal. I willed him to fall asleep now or stay asleep if he were already out to avoid any chance of awkwardness between us.

I remembered what Bautista had said, earlier. He had made it obvious that Randal had told the guys about being with a woman that morning. Whether he had told one or a few guys and the word got passed along or he bragged it to the whole locker room wasn't the point. The story had gotten out, and Bautista had used it to try and rile me up. It still wasn't clear to me exactly why Bautista brought it up. Did he know I was the woman who was with Randal? Doubtful. Bautista wasn't known for his loyalty. If he knew the facts, he'd tell everyone associated with the WWE. Hell, he'd probably set up a fake fan account on Twitter just to post the news to the world.

He would've told Paul. I knew my husband very well. I knew how he'd react to news like that. There was no way Paul would keep it inside. He'd confront Randal and I right away.

I heard Paul closing his laptop. He turned out the light and climbed into bed. I felt him reach around to pull me into him. He squeezed me around the waist and pressed his lips to my ear. I wasn't going to be able to pretend to be asleep. He was acting like he always did when he was _really_ horny.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered to me.

I could feel his hardness pressed up against my back. The idea of having sex with him didn't exactly upset or disgust me. It just felt..._routine_.

I felt somewhat detached even as I rolled over to face him. We made out for a while. It was ordinary. Paul took off my clothes and went down on me. I reached climax, though I was thinking about too many things at once and there was a loss of satisfaction afterwards, almost like the orgasm itself didn't really happen.

What was wrong with me? Being with Paul had become an alien ritual that my body no longer desired to respond to.

We spent some time in foreplay. I had noticed Randal wasn't exactly resourceful in this department, but it didn't seem to matter because I was so easily aroused by him anyway. Paul was usually very good at foreplay since I had taught him what I liked most, but this time, I wasn't very excited at all.

The first climax had made me wet enough for Paul to come inside. He maintained his usual speed. Thrust in-out...thrust in-out...thrust in-out...

I suddenly wondered if this is how androids would do it if they were asked to simulate sex.

Paul smelled good. He was a good man. I still loved him. I was just..._away from him._

_Make some noise, Stephanie,_ I reminded myself inside.

I made some light moans. I was intentionally trying not to be too loud. Paul pulled out and started to turn me over. I got up on all fours and he came in from behind. _Doggy style._ I wanted to call it something else. I made me angry that I couldn't come up with a good name right away.

"Oh, Steph," Paul groaned.

He was getting close. He repeated my name a few more times. He was louder than I wanted him to be. I hoped Randal wouldn't hear it.

One big thrust forward. Paul was done. I wasn't anywhere near.

I moaned in fake climax. I grabbed the blankets and squeezed them for emphasis. Paul rolled away from me and closed his eyes. He'd be asleep in seconds.

I stayed hunched forward on my knees for a long while. I just stared at Paul the whole time. He looked like he always did after sex. _Content. Sleepy. Calm._ Like a hibernating bear.

It had hurt a little bit this time. Was I not wet enough? Maybe. Was Paul a little more rough than usual? Didn't seem like it. I considered that I might have a bladder infection.

I sat up on my knees and stared a little longer. Paul started to look distorted and misty in the darkness as my eyes played tricks on me. Sometimes, he resembled a monster. Sometimes, he looked dead.

I wanted nothing more than to get up and go to Randal's room. I wanted to fall asleep in his arms. I wanted it to be his cum left inside of me.

The last thought changed me, somehow. I could literally feel the chemicals in my brain and body shifting; _altering_. If I hadn't realized it completely enough before, there was no denying it, now.

I was in love with Randal Keith Orton. He was a part of me now, ingrained in my DNA, and I was more than willing to have a part of him growing within me.

"I want another baby," I whispered to the darkness.

The darkness didn't respond.


End file.
